Infinite Diversities: Book Two
by Gentleman Bystander
Summary: Second in a series of overlapping stories, this tale follows everyone's favorite inter-species couple in a modified Mirror Universe setting where the Terran Empire was almost completely crushed less than 50 years into their reign.
1. Prologue

**Legal Disclaimer**

Star Trek and all characters, creations, organization, and locations pertaining there-to are the exclusive property of Viacom, CBS, and Paramount. Use of said characters, creations, organizations, and locations fall under the aegis of the Fair Use Clause and are neither intended nor unintentional generating profit or revenue for the Author.

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**Author Disclaimer**

The story contains contextual and thematic elements that may not be suitable to all audiences. This book is set in a science fiction universe but covers matters of human interactions and relationships that may not be acceptable to all readers. Language and graphic descriptions of violence are common and if this type of writing disturbs you or is unsuitable for viewing by you or your child(ren)/spouse(s)/dependent(s), please do not open this work. This work is replete with refrences and allusions to romantic relationship and human sexuality as part of the natural process of human socialization and may contain strong sexual content and descriptions there-of. Refrences to suicide, drug use, alcoholism, religion, and politics are also contained here-in. If any of these subject matters are offensive or inappropriate to either yourself or your child(ren)/spouse(s)/dependent(s) please do not view my work as I will not be held responsible for posting material you may view as inappropriate after you elected to open and read it. **If for any reason you find the material in this story beyond what should be allowable to a T rated story, please contact me and I will revert the rating to the original M.**

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**Setting Disclaimer**

Events in this story occur in a mirror universe where the Terran Empire was all but destroyed by an alliance of the Klingons, Cardassians, and Romulans that formed some time around 2092.

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**Viewing Disclaimer**

This is the last one...I promise. This work is best viewed at 1/2 justification. You know, those goofy little links at the top right corner of the page opposite the genre/title link bar. Seriously...I mean it, this definetly reads better at 1/2, but don't let me force you.

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**PROLOGUE**

A fat prize, stupid too…a stupid fat prize. They were just sitting there, crawling through the system at a pace that suggested that they were too stupid or to lazy or too uninspired to use their patrolling engines for what they had been intended for. A sluggish one eighth impulse had them dragging themselves like some armored gastropod through space, as if some mortal fear of navigational hazards had seized upon them and left them quaking at the very idea that their navigational deflectors might have to _actually_ work at something. Of course, it made sense in a way…their people's, their race's disdain for anything but the warrior life meant that those who did not rate the "glory" of bullying those weaker than them were subject to endlessly litanies of rules and laws created by the very bullies who were immune to them, seemingly for the purpose of bullying their lessers when they weren't physically present to do so.

And of course, it was their job…her job…to bully the bullies, either directly or via their subordinates. What was a bully to do when your beat their toadies and victims, depriving them of the chance? Well, as usually happened, bully would square off against bully and the one that emerged on top would serve to be the grand terror for everyone. Today's victim was a D5 hauler…a battle cruiser tasked with transport of deuterium reaction mass in large external storage tanks. Raider Marines had reported four days ago that it would be leaving with 150,000 cubic meters worth of the precious fuel that fed warp cores and hydrogen-fusion impulse drives and had about a million other applications in the application of trans-stellar space flight. And, of course, this was about the only way they could get the stuff; they had made sure of that.

They…the Klingons, the Cardassians, the Romulans…they could never let humanity have access to fuel, or ore, or allow them to build their own warp facilities and fleet yards and dry docks because they feared humans. In fifty years of near constant warfare, attacking Earth time and time and time again, they had never managed to crush the human spirit. The initial invasion of earth cost them two hundred thirty thousand the first week, after three months they had lost two million. They had killed thirty million humans, finally resorting to bombarding cities from orbit, but humans had never once stopped fighting. The Emperor fled and took what ships he could with him, and their lord in exile plotted and punished and made Klingon, Cardassian, and Romulan pay for each human life, for every inch of territory lost. They would kill them by inches, one tiny cut at a time. They would drive them mad, the would steal their feeling of security, they would prevent their rest; they would hound and harass until they begged for death. That was the way of humans.

She wanted to take the ship as prize, strip the armor for the smelters, the cannons for her ship, the reactor and warp drive to piece out for upgrades and the deuterium for their raider fleet. They were the Emperor's grand privateer navy, the avenging straight-razor. When fate had measured out the span for humanity, it had determined that it would not end with the three allied alien races, and this must mean that fate intended for them to triumph. What was victory without suffering? What was majesty without sorrow? What was that D5 waiting for?

"Time to intercept?"

"Five minutes to ideal range ma'am."

Captain Erica Hernandez ran her hand over the furniture housing the tactical console on the bridge of the _Revenge_. The Vulcan D'kyr that had served as most of the framing for the ship was as old as their conquest of that world…probably older when she thought about it. Of course, it took a discriminating eye to realize that this ship had ever been of Vulcan make. _Revenge_ sports three times the armor than its predecessor and many more times the guns. The old ring shaped warp drive was gone and the open area of the aft had been filled in with the ubiquitously human saucer had served to house the power plant, bridge, crew quarters, and most of the essential components of the ship. It was a given that she was neither a fast or maneuverable ship, but she could stand and trade shots with any ship she could face down with little concern. And should the enemy send more ships than her shields and armor could take and her guns could sink, then they could just jump away at warp six point seven five and leave them all behind.

She gathered her long raven black hair in her hands and twisted it quickly into a knot; no use having hair in her way when the fighting began. Not that the D5 would put up much of a fight, they'd be too concerned with breaching on of their storage tanks or cooking off the reaction mass to do much more than try to evade for a minute or two. It was the two Raptors that had been quietly skulking, ghosting the trail for just such a situation as this, which would be doing the shooting.

Shame for them that she knew they were there, knew their plan, and had a surprise of her own in store. She felt a shiver of excitement go through her as she reached up to unbutton the top two buttons of her deck jacket.

"Power to shields, mister Spivey." She ordered as she began a slow pace back and forth in front of the view screen.

"Aye, captain."

Two minutes, two minutes until they sprung the trap. Two minutes until enough deuterium to power half their raiders for three months at least was in their hands. Two minutes until the Empire stuck another blow at its enemies…two minutes until the barb was twisted in the side of the Klingons once again; sweet, sweet vindication. Two more minutes and they were once again into the fray for the Empire, for the prize, for the dead of Earth, and for the men and women of the Terran Empire's Raider Fleet.

"Ma'am, Enterprise signaled they are in position and ready to strike, Smilin' Jon sends his compliments." Ensign Barclay declared from her station manning communications.

Hernandez keyed 1MC, her voice being piped to every corner of the ship, "Ladies and Gentlemen, glory to the empire, sternax pertinacia. General quarters, repeat, general quarters."


	2. Chapter 1

"Smiling" Jon Archer…when most people heard the punch line they looked like they'd bitten into bad gagh…like there was anything about gagh that wasn't bad. Then again, Raider fleet commanders tended to be as colorful as the names they were known by and the company they kept. He was actually considered to be relatively bland by the standards of many of the raider captains and commanders. His fame was rooted mostly in the fact that he'd accounted some thirty seven Klingon ships destroyed or captured, five Cardassian frigates crippled and looted, and two Romulan birds of prey taken as prize since he took command of the _Skipjack_ nearly fifteen years ago. The orders to build _Enterprise_ had come by special order of the Emperor in recognition of his service. She wasn't the biggest ship in the fleet, she didn't have the thickest armor or the biggest guns, but in every way she was an exemplary ship which made the big cruisers like _Constitution_, _Vengeance_, _Heracles,_ _Revenge, Ajax_,and _Titus_, all of them effectively battleships in their own right, seem somehow inferior.

Jon could hear the audio-assault coming from engineering before he'd even reached the door. Nothing unusual there, Commander Tucker routinely subjected his division to his rather eclectic taste in music via a jury-rigged system pushing on the 5MC. It was against regulations…one of close to a million things on the ship, but it was hard for them to be considered a navy anymore, not in anything like the traditional sense. He should probably be actively trying to keep his communications officer from sleeping with half the crew, he should probably be ensuring weapons were only carried when issued to repel boarders, he should probably make his chief medical officer actually keep track of confiscated narcotics rather than rationing them out in small amounts to help with sleep and morale in the crew. But he didn't, because they weren't a navy. They were privateers, mercenaries, and occasionally terrorist and pirates. Of course that was all subject to whoever's semantics. The Emperor sat on high, but did very little…he paid lip-service to the Xindi, kept them fascinated, kept them tolerant of their presence in the Expanse. He spouted war-song to the Andorians who beat their chests and built more ships sold at a pittance to the Empire so they humans could make war on their mutual foes. The Senate was nothing but career bureaucrats now, not representatives of the people to offset the might of the Emperor. The admiralty; it was just a planning commission who took an eighth of whatever prize they took and, to their credit, funneled right back into the fleet.

There were, strangely, some true believers in the fleet. Captain Hernandez…the Devil's Mistress herself was fanatically loyal to the empire, to the Emperor. Her fervor, her devotion rallied her crew and converted them to the kind of zealot she was. It was what made the _Revenge_ such a successful raider; to them it was almost a holy war and that conviction had broken the spirit of more than a few alliance captains who had to face down the heavily armed ship-of-the-line. As much as he couldn't agree with her on her politics, he could agree with her feelings towards him, specifically. They were odd lovers, it was known by a fair number in the fleet, but it was never discussed in the open out of respect for the two finest captains of the Empire.

He wanted to get an update on their salvage from the D5 that Hernandez had crippled days earlier. The two _Raptors_ that had believed they were going to ambush the _Revenge_ hadn't provided an opportunity for any meaningful salvage. It had only taken two passes for them to destroy one and the other had fled with heavy damage. It was, most assuredly, going to get reinforcements to return so they had been forced to perform their salvage quickly while the crew of the D5 were shoved into escape pods and jettisoned towards the marginally habitable moon nearby. Hernandez's crew were focused on siphoning off every bit of the reaction mass which mean _Enterprise's_ crew were free to strip what they could quickly remove from the Klingon cruiser. They had, unfortunately, been unable to remove any of the heavy weaponry, something they had been eagerly anticipating stripping from the ship. Instead they decided to demolition them before scuttling the ship to deprive the Klinks of anything worth salvaging.

When the doors slipped open the sound hit him like a face full of freezing air.

"Burn the flesh that is long been rotten…he is gone but he's not forgotten…saying his name but don't replace, the time he spent to make his space…" The chief engineer crooned, floating around the engineering hold, hands mimicking the chords of the song as played on a guitar.

Archer shook his head with almost a smirk, this man had always been eccentric, but time and age had just seemed to compound the effect. Twelve years ago he was a wild-eyed youth, now he was a certifiable mad-man in that best of human traditions. Crazy like a fox, the kind of insanity people spoke of with a nod and a grin because it was the kind of lunatic you like to have in your corner. He was only howling-at-the-moon crazy for effect, behind that façade he was ever calculating, ever thinking, a mental titan in a world of Lilliputians.

He was an original. God broke the mold after Charles Anthony Tucker III came screaming into this world, and probably with good reason. If the universe had a tipping point for how much crazy it could hold, a second Trip Tucker would almost certainly be too much for it to handle. Damn if he wasn't, easily, one of the most energetic beings he had ever met, that element hadn't changed one iota over the years. Everything else though… When Tucker had signed onto the _Skipjack _in 43 he had been a skinny clean shaven boy with stars in his eyes and fire in his gut. Now he was a beast of a man with thick arms, broad chest, and possibly the biggest fire-hazard of a beard Archer had ever seen. The sleeves of his jumpsuit were usually rolled up to his mid-bicep, showing off the garishly colored tattoos that covered them from just above his fingers up to his shoulders and chest. His style of shaving all but a four inch wide strip of hair running from front to back on his head had also been picked up as a style among certain individuals in the fleet.

If this was anything resembling a normal navy, he'd be compelled to enforce a grooming standard, but were that the case, there were many things he was more than happy to let slide now, that he would not be able to allow any longer. As it was, he was willing to suffer most things as long as it meant a good crew. Tucker was as much a certifiable genius as he was a certifiable nut; when _Enterprise_ had been built he took the old Andorian Warp 5 engines from the _Skipjack_ and _Tigershark_ and worked some bizarre Frankensteinian magic on them, combining both drives into what he called a "super charged" warp 5. Only he would have thought to call it that as the idea had yielded warp 7.5 in practice and opened up more cargo space and room for additional weapons systems in the two old Andorian Cruiser hulls by moving the entire power plant into the saucer.

Oh, and he had given Gardner fits too, an added bonus in retrospect. Chopping up the _Skipjack_ and _Tigershark_ had yielded an aggressive hull configuration with plenty of redundancy but had driven the admirals to the brink. The plans originally called for only the _Skipjack_ to be parted out for construction and an old semi-derelict D'Kyr to provide the rest of the parts and majority of the space frame. Tucker, however, set his men to cutting up the _Tigershark_ too. The boat had been setting in dock for the better part of two years waiting for the engine and EPS overhauls that just never seemed to come. The crazy plans had born fruit with _Enterprise_. Four sets of Impulse engines gave _Enterprise_ arguably the best acceleration in the sector if not all the Alpha Quadrant. He hadn't skimped on the firepower either, running the Andorian particle guns triple in the nose mount after shearing off the wings entirely. The ship could bring ten guns to bear on anything to its fore, and four tubes worth of photonic torpedoes to round it out.

He'd vowed to one day capture enough of the ventral cannon assemblies from Klingon D5 class ships that he could put a quad set of the powerful main guns in the nose assemblies for the ship. His state purpose was so they could outgun any four ships instead of only three.

"What's up, skipper?" Tucker had just sort of appeared right in front of him, shocking him out of the moment of rumination.

"Finished processing that reactor we stripped out of that D five?" Archer inquired, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Something about Andorian life-support systems meant that the ships were always about three or four degrees cooler than his comfort level on a good day. Today it felt positively frigid, even near the warp core and power plant.

"Yep, pieced 'er up real nice like. Clean manifolds, but the reaction chamber has got micro-fractures all through it, only good for slag or sale if we find someone desperate enough and willin' to only pull warp four. We also extracted a-hundred seven'y grams of palladium and six'y eight grams'a platinum from the baby."

Archer bobbed his brows, nodding, "Not a bad haul then for seconds. What about the rest of it?"

"Pieced up for scrap 'n salvage sale when we put back in." He pulled a PADD out of his coveralls with the information, handing it over, "Ne'ry a bit of it usable for us, but we're runnin' ship shape, stem to stern, so just money in our pocket, cap'n."

Jon shrugged, "Render unto Caesar…"

"'Cept the palladium 'n platinum ain't on the logs…so if'n you think it's 'bout time you get yourself a ring to hand over to Hernandez…I'm sure the crew will be more'n willin' to forego their share." He tapped his nose with a wink.

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Trip grinned as he saw Hoshi stepping onto the gantry heading back to _Enterprise_ from Kluvan Station, Travis would likely be occupied, the captain wasn't one to party and Malcolm…well…he could get creepy when he was drinking.

"Hey, Hoshi…watcha doin' tonight?"

"Not you." She fired back.

Tucker spread his arms in a defensive gesture, "I wasn' even askin' it like that."

Sato stepped closer to him, "Trip, you're sweet, but the way you go at it feels more like you're trying to romance a girl rather than just get off."

He furrowed his brows, "Geez, what y'all do? Compare notes'r somethin'?"

"Oh come on, Trip, what do you think the girls are talking about in the galley all the time?"

"I figured shoes'r somethin…"

She smiled and shook her head, amusement obvious, "God you're cute…"

"Cute? What the hell, Hosh? I'm not cute, I'm masculine…a complete sexual tyrannosaurus!" He folded his arms, the huge biceps almost farcically accentuating his assertion. The full sleeve tattoos seemed to stare right back at Hoshi, as if the skin itself could glare at her. By design, the words Death on the left and Taxes on the right were right in her line of sight.

Yeah, the only things sure in the universe; death, taxes, and Trip Tucker's arms...God he was just about cut from marble. His abs, his pecs, his thighs, his ass…he would be just about the best lay on _Enterprise_ if it wasn't for the fact he was so passionate about it. He even fucked like a lunatic; instead of loud, hair-pulling, profanity laden flesh slapping flesh on flesh screwing, he took the slow, deep, kisses-that-lasted-for-hours candles and incense style love-making. A hookup with Trip Tucker was sure to leave you feeling awkward after the fact because part of you was sort of expecting him to make you breakfast the next morning instead of what _actually_ happened which was that you'd wake up, and he'd be gone. Not just gone, but gone-gone…no warm spot still in the bed, no sound of the door closing as he slipped away. You'd go hunt him down, part of you almost convinced that the hours of crying out, calling his name as he did…things…amazing things was it, you were in love, it had to be. And when you found him he'd be arms deep in some sort of repairs and all you'd get out of him would be something like 'good morning' or a 'hey, how you doin'?'.

"That's what's cute about you…"

Tucker shrugged, he was half-planning to go get that itch scratched anyway, Hoshi wasn't even on his 13 button salute list for the night, not that he wouldn't take the opportunity if she came catting around at about midnight. She was good in bed, not the prettiest by a good stretch, but she knew how to do things to a man that could curl your toes and straighten your hair. In all honesty, his tastes were leaning more towards the exotic in the form of Xenophilia tonight, but it would be nice just to hang out for a while, "Seriously, though…you got plans this evenin'?"

"That last triple we pulled wiped me out. I'm going to put a hurt on this bottle and pass out for like a day." She commented, hoisting the bottle of…whatever it was…aloft to emphasize the point.

"A'right then, sleep tight." He gave her backside a swat.

She pulled his lumber-jack-on-steroids beard playfully, "Go get 'em Tiger."

First thing was first though, before he got some strange, he needed to meet up with the Captain, Zek and Bok. The Ferengis were jokingly referred too on the ship as the Action brothers. As Ferengi went, the moniker sort of worked. They had done mercenary work in the past, some actual gun fighting and security-tough work. Pretty much utterly unheard of among Ferengi, but they were nothing like normal Ferengi. Bok and Zek would buy _you_ a drink, they'd give you a tip on some nice haul for _free_. A lot of folks just sort of assumed they were really bad at being Ferengi, or maybe there was some Andorian blood in the mix way, way back somewhere. Trip had it figured out though; whenever they gave you something they should have charged you for, and you went to asking how much they always just said, "You can owe me one." They had a long view…very long, longer than a Vulcan it seemed. One day, and Trip openly bet on this, the two would come across their big score, their major haul, and they'd call in every favor they had done over the years and live the rest of their lives like emperors. It was a solid bet that they always had one eye on the profit margins and they were going to take care of themselves, but there were moments that you couldn't help but feel like they were doing you a solid because they viewed you as friends.

He knew for a fact one pair of the manifolds from the D5 reactor was even now being transferred to their cargo bay by way of paying back a really solid tip from a few weeks back. To be sure, they never refused payment for a tip or assistance, but the fact the never once asked or hinted at it endeared them greatly to the Terran Fleet's privateers. Another fun fact; they could drink like Klingons…many a new crewman had tried to go drink for drink with the Ferengis only to end up in sickbay before Zek and Bok had even gotten their second wind. Trip sort of assumed they cheated just a little, using Tri-Ox and metabolizers to super-charge their liver and kidneys to process the booze, but there was never any money riding on it that they were privy too, so to a Ferengi it would seem like an unnecessary and wasteful expense. Of course, it did up their stock among the Terran Raiders, and that was currency in its own right. There wasn't a captain out in the hunting grounds that wouldn't give them a berth if they ever found themselves in need of passage somewhere.

Tucker entered the bar, heading over to _their_ table. It was an unwritten rule that the table belonged, all but in name, to Zek and Bok. A group of Orions once tried to throw their weight around when Zek had found them occupying their table and politely asked them to unass the area. When the lead Orion, a big bastard about the size of a manor house decided to take issue, Bok had attacked from behind, laying him out with a stun baton to the back of the knees and a bottle smashed-to-the-point-of-almost-being-embedded across his skull. Then Zek pulled his knife, placing it tip first on the table, hand resting on the pommel and had simply said, "My brother is a softy, now which one of you wants to deal with me?"

If it was a bluff, it was the best one in history because the Orions took one look into his eyes and decided it was a better idea to haul ass. It was needless to say but Trip took a liking to them right then and there. When he reached their table, Archer was already there with Hayes from the Marine detail. The table itself was just like any other in the club, its placement wasn't so specifically special, it wasn't of better quality or a better state of repair, but the Action Brothers liked it, and that was enough.

"So, word is a Coridanite shipping firm just landed a contract to move sixty thousand cubic meters of deuterium to Ganalda. Word is that they'll be making delivery in five weeks leaving from Rigel Ten." Zek stated in a matter-of-fact sort of way that always screamed 'I know what you did'.

"Wonder what the odds are going to be that it'll be sitting at about twenty eight parts per million tritium, that'd put the Pi Canis fleet in dry dock for the better part of a month to purge the systems and all that deuterium would be wasted." Bok lifted his drink, taking a sip, "Of course the Coridanites would have their money and be long gone by then. Nothing the Klingons could do about it."

Archer _almost_ smiled. "Yeah, they'll be pretty desperate for the reaction mass after losing one hundred fifty k square meters of the stuff when one of their freighters got mysteriously ambushed."

Archer slid a PADD across the table to Zek who glanced down at that. "Imagine that, brother, a fresh pair of heavy duty manifolds found their way into our cargo bay."

"Lose something, Jon?" Bok inquired.

"Between friends."

"You're too nice to us Jon." Zek replied with a grin revealing the gold caps on two of his longer incisors.

Trip took a seat on one of the bar stools around the table, nodding as he did.

"Trip can put them in for you if you'd like."

Bok grinned this time, something predatory in the look but also a sliver of genuine appreciation. He poured a couple shots worth of a pale reddish-gold clear liquid into a glass and pushed it across the table to Tucker. "That overhaul still has us pulling warp six four. I can't wait to see what these improved manifolds will yield."

Trip took the glass, draining it in a quick chug. God only knows where they had picked this up from, who brewed it…it burned like hell, but the cinnamon taste and perfect balance of sweetness was a delight on the tongue even as your throat roared. "I can guarantee you'll be able to red line'er at six seven at the very least once I'm done."

Zek looked over to Bok then to Archer and Trip in succession, "We'll be able to outrun any patrol in the quadrant."

"Except us." Archer added. It could be taken as threatening, but those at the table knew better; remember who your friends are, hitch yourself to our star, keep throwing in with us…good things will happen.

Bok was grinning big-ear to big-ear, bringing the bottle back up to pour another for Trip when a Vulcan female shuffled up behind him.

Trip's eyes went wide, she was probably one of the sexiest things he had ever seen. She wore a rather modest suit in terms of how much skin it covered, but it let the viewer know she had a body you could bounce a strip of latinum off of. Her hair was short, a medium nutty brown only coming down to just around her ears. She had the thin upward angled brows of her race and full lips that just begged to be kissed. Around her neck was a slave collar…not of the unpleasant Orion make, this was simply a location transmitter with tamper proofing. It prompted the slave to except their plight rather than foster resistance through pain and the eventual breaking of the spirit. In a strange way it almost said that the master cared, if not so much for the person, at least for protecting their investment.

"Daaaaaaammnnn….new toy?" Trip inquired.

Zek looked behind at the Vulcan, "Oh…her. Not like you think."

Archer cocked an inquisitive brow.

"She was up for auction at an Orion slave market, they tried to push her using the usual line, every sentient there had probably read or seen a Vulcan Love Slave vid, fools who clearly didn't know any better…but to sweeten the pot the Orions mentioned that she was a warp theory specialist, that's what caught our attention."

This really caught Trip's attention, "Is that right?"

"They were idiots…" Zek growled.

"She has a background in spatial and sub-space dynamics; bright as they come, but she knows about as much about warp theory as we do. We had intended to sell her on Tellar into an indentured servitude contract…they're looking for warp theorists in a big way." Bok clarified.

"So I guess that's out now, then." Archer prompted.

"We were going to see if we could trade her for a male on Nausicaa." Zek replied.

"Why a male?" Archer inquired.

"Indentured contracts are very much in demand for male Vulcans on a number of worlds to handle clerical loads."

Bok looked back at the slave, "What is it?"

"I have completed the inventory of your cargo." She handed him a PADD.

"Wouldn' Nausicaa be bad news for'er?" Trip inquired, some hint of concern on his face.

"Not as bad as Orion, they'd just have her doing labor until someone came along and purchased her next. If she was a good enough worker, they might not part with her. At least then she wouldn't have to worry about perverts and psychopaths. Say what you want about Nausicans, they have a pretty reasonable set of tastes when it comes to recreation." Zek clarified.

"She doesn't even qualify as a good source of distraction. Just try to get a Vulcan female to perform Oomox…never going to happen." Bok stated.

"Besides…it would be weird getting Oomox from her after she did you." Zek countered his brother.

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it…she's giving Oomox to both of us…so she's touching your ears after she touched mine…and my ears after she touched yours." Zek left a palpable silence so the other Ferengi could stew on the matter for a moment.

Bok narrowed his eyes, and then shuddered; downing his drink, then shuddered again harder, "Thanks for putting that thought in my head!"

"How much you want for'er?" Trip blurted out.

Every eye on the table turned to him including the Vulcan who had a mild look of disgust which, from a Vulcan, meant she was probably just shy of becoming physically ill at the idea.

"That's an awful lot to scratch that itch, Trip." Archer was trying to sound like he was joking about it, but the disapproval in his voice was clear.

"We could use a spatial theorist…we've had'a hole in our science division since th'Skipjack and you gotta know her knowledge base is gonna be three times the size of any two guys the admirals would kick over t'us."

Archer gave his engineer an amused look, "That the only reason?"

"Well," Tucker's expression turned sheepish, "You gotta admit she's nice t'look at. But you 'n I both know there ain't gonna be a Vulcan this side'a Romulus that's gonna put out."

Jon shrugged at his de-facto second in command his expression indicating he was still skeptical over motives, "It's your cut, if that's how you want to spend it."

"Make us an offer." Zek declared, his attention seeming to sharpen as the deal was a-foot.

"Five bars." Trip offered, shifting on the stool for the eminent bidding war.

"Fifteen bars, she's got good clerical skills and I can show you the navigational charts she plotted just in the week since we bought her." Bok interceded.

"Now wait jus' a minute, both'a ya hagglin' is hardly fair."

"It's a joint venture, Tucker." Bok fired back with a predatory grin.

"Rule of Acquisition number twenty one; never place friendship above profit." Zek added.

"Six bars." Trip replied with a bit of a grimace, if they were going to milk him he'd make sure it was just as arduous for them. "Besides, if her clerical skills were that good, you'd've got her the clerk contract y'all were talkin' about."

"Twelve." Zek countered now that his brother had set an initial ceiling. "Those contracts aren't interested in females because to many people will be inclined to flirt with them, it lowers productivity."

"Seven bars and I go ahead and sync your EPS for the new manifolds."

Bok locked in on the agreement price, "Ten bars and you do the EPS sync anyway and as a consolation I throw in a case of this." He held up the bottle they had been drinking from.

"Deal!" Trip stood as did both Ferengi. He slapped his hand first into Bok's for the customary handshake to seal the deal, then followed suit with Zek.

"I love doing business with you oomans…you're impulsive as hell but can always smell profit." Zek declared.

"Alright then, I'll go get those bars transferred to your hold." Trip declared.

"I'll meet you with the case." Bok replied, turning to the Vulcan, "Well, I suppose this is farewell, happy to be going with the oomans?"

"Happiness is illogical, my plight has not shown to be significantly improved by this exchange." She sniped back.

Bok turned back towards the table, "Winning personality…isn't it?"

Archer furrowed his brows, he wasn't sure he liked this at all, slavery hadn't worked out too well for the empire but it was Tucker's money and they did, indeed, have a major staffing hole in their science division. "Where are you going to put her?"

"C'mon now, cap'n, she's gotta name." He turned to the Vulcan, "What is your name, sweety?"

"My name is T'Pol, though I suspect you will persist in calling me by other labels to no end so the question is of little relevance."

Trip affected a hurt expression, "Don't be like that, sugar, I'm not that bad'a guy, really!"

"You have just exemplified my point." If Vulcans could sneer…

"I s'pose I'm gonna have to shack her up in my quarters 'till we can find'er a good berth." Tucker declared matter-of-factly.

Hayes chuckled, his first time making a sound, "This is going to be legendary. You know Vulcans are about twice as strong as our kind, right?"

Trip shrugged, "So?"

"So, you try anything and she'll break you in half."

Trip frowned at the Marine commander, "Imma gen'leman…I never try anythin' without express consent." He turned back to the Vulcan, "See, you got nothin' t'worry about, darlin'."

She just looked at him like he was mold.

"Alright, let's go." Trip grunted with a frown.

* * *

Humans…humans…the indignity was almost too much to endure. Everything that had befallen her people in the past century had been the fault of humans. Her capture by the Orion slavers…the fault of humans. Her kidnapping at the hands of the Romulans…the fault of humans. Her mother's self-exile into the forge with the Syrannites…the fault of humans. Her mate…Koss' death as part of the anti-Romulan resistance…the fault of humans.

Ninety two years ago Solkar had attempted to make first contact with the humans and been captured along with his crew. The barbarians spent the next seven years reverse engineering everything in the T'Plana-Hath and within fifteen years had launched their invasion fleet for Vulcan. It had only taken them days to force unconditional surrender from the High Command, despite the inferiority of human technology and their physical limitations, their gambit had managed to work…Vulcan had no way of defending herself against the human invaders. The transition had been largely bloodless with the humans setting up puppet governors all across Vulcan and keeping a garrison of fifty thousand men on the planet.

The meddling on the part of the humans had been responsible for the unification movement gaining traction on Vulcan. Infiltrators sent by the Romulans had served to spark popular uprisings that the humans had been reluctant to put down with the sort of violence that would have ended them outright. When the Romulans came in force, there was nothing the humans could do. Reinforcements for the garrison were weeks away and the entire Terran Empire didn't have nearly enough ships to beat back the superior technology and numbers of the invasion force. It was thus that Vulcan was conquered again, this time by the very people who had left it centuries before.

The humans had overreached, struck out with conquest in mind long before they were ready. They relied on persistence and audacity to make up for their lack of technology and it had made them easy prey for the Klingon-Cardassian Alliance and the Romulan Star Empire that had eventually been folded into an Alliance that included dozens of other client races. Her people's plight had been to serve the Romulans in any capacity the followers of the Raptor saw fit. In her case it was to be a mistress or concubine once she had caught the eye of a visiting senator. If not for the fact that Orion pirates had attacked the ship that was transporting her to Romulus she would, undoubtedly, be fulfilling that unsavory duty now.

What she could not understand was how the humans, who had been so thoroughly crushed in the first waves of the invasions from Klingon, Cardassian, and Romulan forces had managed to hang on much less form what was, by all accounts, an effective fleet of privateers and raiders that forced the Tri-Part Alliance to pay for every light year of territory they had annexed in ships, material, and lives. It was a singular characteristic that humans seemed to have a premium on. As a child her mother and father had deigned to teach her to read the human tongue, they insisted that it would be important that she know it as both firmly believed that one day humans would once again conquer Vulcan and they would come as both liberators and destroyers. In those days they said it would be important she understand them. On the back of the human's arm she saw that singular concept given form in the ink embedded in his skin. One word encapsulated it all; their stern defiance, their unfounded self-confidence, his, specifically, choice to purchase her from the Ferengi. She knew the root of the word and its pronunciation in their basic tongue, but this time it was formed differently, spelled…wrong.

"Audacia…"

He turned his head, "Hmmm?"

"The markings on your arm, should it not read 'audacity'?"

He lifted his left forearm, turning the below side towards her to more easily display the tattoo and launched into his explanation, "Audacia is the word audacity comes from, it's Latin, the original language of Earth's greatest empire."

"It was my understanding that the Terran Empire was founded on your North American continent and that the language of the Empire was English." She countered, feeling more than a bit disgusted that she was having to teach him his own history.

"Alotta the English language takes cues from Latin. It's kinda a mutt tongue, part ol' German, part Celtic and Pictish, part Norman French, and that means alotta Latin peppered through." If he detected her condescension he gave no evidence of it.

"So the language is a synthetic amalgamation?" She was inadvertently fascinated by the revelation.

"That's kinda true of any language when you think 'bout it. Ain't a bein' around that is born knowin' how to talk, they have t'learn it and someone had t'create it in the first place. It's not somethin' you find in nature, a rock formation ain't gonna teach you 'bout verb tense, pronouns don't grow on trees."

"Are animals taught to communicate?" She found a hole in his logic, or so she thought.

"Animals know how to make sounds, same as any baby, but it takes their social structures for'em to learn how t'communicate."

She cocked a brow; he was clearly more intelligent than she gave him credit for. However she still did not trust him, in point of fact, his intelligence made him even less trustworthy.

"Does your role on the ship involve the sciences?" If she was going to have to work with him, it was best that she begin preparing herself now.

"Sort of, I'm the chief engineer, I designed most'a the ship." He extended a hand to touch the walls of the corridor, "Oversaw construction of the whole thing, stem t'stern."

He stopped in front of a portal and keyed the opening mechanism, "This is it, you're gonna be stayin' here for a while at least."

"Your quarters?" She cocked her brow, her words more of a statement than a question.

"That's right, we ain't gotta open berth at the moment, so we're just gonna have to bunk you up in here."

She put her hands behind her back, pulling herself up to her full height; an instinctual attempt to seem menacing despite the fact the human was much larger than her. "I will not permit you to engage in any inappropriate behavior. I refuse to be an object by which you satiate any sexual urges."

The look he gave her, it felt as insulting as it was meant to look, "You're not my type anyway…"

He entered the room and she followed, it was not spacious but not particularly cramped either. There were two bunks parallel to one another, multiple cabinets and drawers and a small fresher off the main room all-purpose room.

He pointed to the left most bunk, "That'll be yer bunk, I got some spare jump suits in the drawers but they're pro'ly gonna be a bit big for you, I'll see if I can round somethin' up in yer size later. The head and shower are in there."

"Head?"

He rolled his eyes, "The privy."

"I see."

"The desk's gotta console, and I've got some books on the shelf if yer feelin' the urge to read somethin'."

She noted, with some distaste the pictures pinned to the wall next to his bunk. Many of them photographic captures of various human and other alien females, many in some state of undress and clearly captured immediately before, during, or after the sexual act. Some of them were signed with personalized messages. She arched a brow inquisitively with readily apparent disapproval on her face.

"Don't you worry 'bout them, they won't need you to satiate their sexual urges either, I typically do a more'n adequate job doin' so." His tone was sharp.

He looked at one of the pictures, an Andorian female with long hair down around her shoulders sitting up on what was, clearly, his bunk, the sheets wrapped around her chest and one well-formed long leg hanging over the side of the bunk. He smiled at it with a hint of fondness as the female in the picture smiled back with barely varnished lust painted over every inch of her face.

"If you intend to engage in sexual relations in these quarters I will require a place to go during said act for the duration."

"What, you don't wanna watch?" He grinned.

"I am sure the proceedings will be adequately short enough that I will be able to engage in another activity for a short time." She knew males, particularly humans, were particularly susceptible to insults about their sexual prowess.

But for some reason, he did not seem angered by her statement, he just looked amused, "Is that right? Two decks up, on the parallel corridor to this'n is the galley, you tell 'em you're takin' over the science officer billet and they'll fix ya right up. The rec room is right across the corridor from it when I'm busy in here."

"Very well."

"Alright then, I'm off."

"I do not understand." She cocked a brow at him.

"I'm goin't'satiate my sexual urges. I'll probably be back in 'bout an hour so you might wanna get yerself freshened up in the meantime, don't imagine they had much in the way of bathin' facilities on Zek 'n Bok's ship."

With that, he left before she could say anything else.

* * *

"I'll let you know when I'm done." Was all that he had said when he shooed her from the quarters a little over an hour after he had left. He had arrived with an Andorian female in tow, the same one from the picture. She was almost as tall as him and lithe in figure, accentuated, probably surgically, in all the areas a male sapient mammal appreciated. That had been three hours ago and during that time she had availed herself of both the galley to acquire sustenance and the small library that was part of the recreation area.

She decided that his failure to notify her of the completion of his sexual activities was a power-play on his part. He was establishing the ground rules, the pecking order so to speak. She was not about to let it stand as such so she had ventured back to the quarters with the goal of confronting him regarding his rudeness. To be certain, the fact he had forced her to vacate the room was rude, but his failure to inform her that she may return compounded the fact. His words stuck in her mind. "You don't wanna watch?" She resolved herself to endure the indignity of being in the same room next time believing it would result in a substantial amount of discomfort for him having her effectively performing oversight on his sexual escapades.

As she reached the quarters the Andorian female was just leaving. Her skin still glistening with sweat was showing a deeper shade of blue and her shoes were in her hand. She exuded satisfaction, a fact T'Pol found doubly distasteful.

The Andorian looked at her, eyeing her up and down and darting a tongue over her lips, "We just wrapped up, but I'm pretty sure he's still go some left for you."

"I have not come here for that purpose."

She leaned closer, almost whispering, "If you're looking for me I could maybe do a threesome, Charles certainly has the energy for it. I'm just not sure how much that Vulcan frost could hold up to all that human heat."

T'Pol's complexion greened involuntarily, "I have no desire to engage either you or the human in sexual relations."

"Well, if you're into watching, I suppose we could make a night of it."

She speared the Andorian with her glare, keying the entry command to the quarters then stepping into the quarters.

"Maybe next time, honey." The Andorian female called after her.

His bunk was disheveled, the sheets twisted around with a noticeable wet spot on the fitted sheet and a few hints of red human blood on the spread. The sound coming from the bathing area seemed to indicate he was relieving his bladder. The scent of sex was heavy in the room, distastefully so, but there was something strangely intriguing about it. Humans smelled so obviously different from Vulcans even in that particularly intimate way. Koss had always had a strangely spiced smell, earthy and sweet and even more so during physical intimacy. She found that she missed him greatly even though she had found his cause of resisting the Romulans logical and his death honorable. It was a shame she never conceived by him to carry on his family line.

He stepped out of the privy area still in the process of pulling on a pair of undergarments allowing her just a monetary glimpse of his genitalia as he adjusted himself manually. His expression was shocked when he noticed her.

"Oh…hey…"

She glared at him, arms folded across her chest.

"I said I was gonna let you know when I was done. I ain't even hadda chance to clean up yet."

"It would appear I underestimated the time it would require for you to complete the act, it was my understanding that humans lacked the ability to prolonged sexual activity."

He shrugged with a bit of a grin, "Well, you learn somethin' new every day."

He walked past her to an environmental control and pressed several keys, a ventilation system began cycling fresh air through the room, taking away the musky odors of human to Andorian coitus. On his backs she saw shallow scratch marks breaking the skin; the traces of blood blending in with the tattoos on his deltoids and trapezius.

"Oh, I requisitioned you some clothes, might be nice t'have a change. You can pick 'em up from the quartermaster on C deck." He pulled the sheets off the bed, balling them up and throwing them in the laundry chute.

She didn't reply, just continued to glare at his turned back.

He crossed to a cabinet and pulled out a new set of sheets, quickly making the bed with almost mechanically practiced precision. Then opening a drawer produced a pair of trousers and a short-sleeved shirt. Pulling them on quickly and heading for the door.

"Where are you going now?" She couldn't help but ask, not sure why but feeling a spike of curiosity that, she hoped, would help further drive her indignation.

"Goin' to grab drinks with a few guys from engineerin' and pickin' up my next appointment."

She looked over at the desk noticing for the first time a digital image capture device of the hand-held variety. Next to it were several pictures printed out on glossy squares of physical display media. One depicted the Andorian from the waist up, naked an nestled against his chest; the two both in frame as he extended the camera above to take the picture. She flushed green again, partially in embarrassment over seeing such an intimate act but partially out of distaste for his behavior.

"What do you mean, appointment?"

"Well, as much as Tahrra is my favorite, she's not the only girl on th'station that was anticipatin' my visit here."

"You will be bringing another female here?" She let her disbelief be evident in her voice.

"Unless we go to her place, yeah…" He looked up and away as it contemplating something, "I s'pose I could borrow Travis' room for a bit though…"

She turned to look at a wall…anything but him; she had never wanted to strangle a being this much in her life.

* * *

**[! Author's Note !]**

**The content in this story is going to be a lot saltier than ID1, but it kind of goes with the whole Mirror Universe schema. For that reason I might end up changing this story to an M (Mature) depending on where the writing takes me and how adult its going to be. For those of you that are wondering; No, I am NOT done with Book 1, I just want to start getting this one kicked off and provide a little variety.**


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